


Little Game

by thereforebucket



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereforebucket/pseuds/thereforebucket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time when you were seven and wanted to cut your hair. You tugged on your pigtails in the mirror, pulling them behind your head so that you couldn’t see how long your hair was. “I want to cut my hair,” you announced to Perry, the only other person in the room. “Like Mulan.”<br/>-----<br/>Five different scenes from LaFontaine's past when being a girl didn't quite fit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Game

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote about half of this piece while listening to "Little Game" by Benny (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNr3x1kVVEc). That's also where the title came from. I saw the video and immediately thought of LaF disregarding gender stereotypes throughout their life and just had to write it. I hope you like it!

It started with a question.

\-----

The time when you were four, at the candy store with your aunt and brother. “Here’s Spiderman for Thomas,” she said, handing your brother a newly-bought PEZ dispenser, the hero’s likeness ingrained on the top. “And here’s Aurora for Susan.” You were handed the pink princess, your four-year-old fist, so often described as pink, pale in comparison. You glanced over to your brother, eagerly popping PEZ into his hand. You watched the head tilt back, then looked down at the princess in your hand. Her head would knock back just the same. The same PEZ would come out. You knew this. You had several PEZ dispensers at home. And yet. And yet you didn’t _want_ that one. You didn’t _want_ Aurora. You’d rather have Spiderman. You thrust the pink plastic at your aunt, a determined look on your face. You didn’t know why it mattered, just that you don’t _want_ this. Your aunt looked confused. “Do you need help, Susan?” she asked.

 

Then you were confused. Couldn’t she see that you didn’t want the toy? You knew how to work PEZ dispensers, you were _four._ Then you remembered what your Mommy said about when you didn’t like something. “No thank you,” you said, somewhat uncertainly, and pushed the thing at your aunt’s hands.

 

“Do you…not want candy?” she asked. You had been ecstatic on the way over, it’s no wonder she was confused.

 

“I want candy,” you told her. “I don’t want her.” You gave her a little nod afterwards to let her know how serious you were.

 

“Oh…” your aunt trailed off, a little uncertainly.

 

“Susie, don’t be rude!” your brother chimed in. You shrank back, uncertain. You weren’t being rude, you just knew that this wasn’t _right_ somehow.

 

“It’s ok, Thomas,” you aunt said. “Susan, is Belle better?” She handed you the yellow princess and you looked down and contemplate it. You supposed Belle _was_ better. Belle _read._

 

You looked up, worried that your disappointment showed on your face. “Thank you.” Your aunt ended up paying for both princesses because she already opened the Aurora one, but she told you not to worry because now you all had one.

 

The next year you gave the Belle one to your new best friend, Lola Perry. She always did seem like a princess and she _read_ too.

\-----

The time when you were seven and wanted to cut your hair. You tugged on your pigtails in the mirror, pulling them behind your head so that you couldn’t see how long your hair was. “I want to cut my hair,” you announced to Perry, the only other person in the room. “Like Mulan.”

                                                                                                                                                                  

You had been thinking about that ever since the movie came out last year. You and Perry had seen it in the movie theater, sharing a bag of popcorn, chaperoned by your mom. You had stared wide-eyed at the screen as this girl, loud and ‘obnoxious’ (whatever that meant) was stuffed into silks and make-up and told to be a girl. Your jaw hadn’t dropped until she cut her hair. You actually leaned over to Perry when Mulan told Shang her name was Ping, whispering “That’s so cool!” Perry was too busy giggling at Mushu to pay especial attention to your words, but she did nod. Later, when the Huns were attacking, she had clutched at your arm, even burying her face in your shoulder when the battle at the Imperial Palace took place. She didn’t notice your excitement when the men still fought after dressing up like women.

 

Perry had looked up from her book (see? _reading_ ) and given you a look, all wrinkled forehead and confusion from behind a few of her own, perfect curls. “Why? I like your hair.”

 

“But it’s too long!” you told her, pulling the pigtails to the front again. You tugged at them and showed Perry how they came to the bottom of your ribs. You even pouted a little to show your discontentment.

 

Perry tilted her head, thinking hard. “Do you want it to here?” she asked, straitening her arm and making a chopping motion a few inches down from her shoulders.

 

You shook your head. “No,” you said, I want it like…” you struggle to find someone whose hair fits your image. “…like Hercules.”

 

If Perry looked confused before, now she was absolutely bewildered. “But…” she said, trying to find the words. “Hercules is a boy.”

 

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, Perry, I know. But his hair is really cool. And it’s red like mine.” Perry nodded like she couldn’t argue with your logic, but still looked uncertain. “Plus,” you said, trying to convince her this was a good idea, “your hair is long like Meg’s.”

 

“But Meg’s hair isn’t curly! Also, why does that matter?”

 

“Well,” you say, still tugging, still thinking, “she’s kind of like his best friend, and you’re my best friend, so our hair could be like their hair.”

 

It’s a memory, faded, slightly tattered, but you’re almost positive Perry blushed. “Hercules and Meg aren’t best friends!” she said. “They’re in love!”

 

“Yeah, Perr, I know, but they’re still _friends._ It’s like Tarzan and Jane. Jane taught Tarzan how to read and stuff and they were friends but then they also fell in love.” It’s funny, in hindsight, knowing that you were mapping out your entire life by referencing Disney movies.

 

“Yeah, but _we’re_ not in love,” she said. That’s funny, too, considering that looking back on it, you’re pretty sure you’ve been in love with her since you went up to her on the playground in kindergarten, the girl with the mop of red-gold hair standing nervously by the fence.

 

You rolled your eyes then. “I _know_ , Perr, but we _are_ best friends. Anyway that’s how short I want my hair.” You look at her expectantly.

 

Perry brings her hand up to her face and looks up at the ceiling to think. “What about Ana’s hair from Anastasia?” she asks. “It’s short too but it’s cuter than Hercules’ hair.” You grin at her. You can always count on Perry to help you out with these things.

 

“Perfect!”

 

(Your mom doesn’t think so, but after a little persuading, she allows you to get it cut to shoulders. You wear it in a low ponytail as much as humanly possible.)

\-----

The time at Christmas when your Uncle sent you a gift card to Claire’s. You had opened the envelope, your brothers and your parents watching, and pulled the gift card out. You had worked to keep the smile on your face, and really, $25 was pretty generous, but you just really…did not…like…that store. Your mother says that you and Perry should go shopping after Christmas and take the card with you.

  
That’s how you ended up at the mall with Perry a few days after Christmas in the choking, purpley-silvery madness that was Claire’s. You stood awkwardly, tense, trying not to touch anything. You told Perry she could just have the gift card, you didn’t want it, really didn’t want anything to do with it, but she insisted that it was yours, she couldn’t just _take_ it.

 

You’d been starting to realize that she could actually probably take any of your things and you’d be ok with it, just knowing they’re with her. It was a kinda scary, weird thought that you would never share and Perry would never purposefully act on (purposefully, because you couldn’t have been friends as long as the two of you and not have accidentally stolen a few things from each other), but it’s also just another thing to add to the list of things you’d realized about yourself and Perry in the last year. Another of those things was that you wouldn’t mind if Perry maybe stopped talking about the boys in your class, because _may_ be you were the teensiest bit jealous.

 

“What about this?” asked Perry, holding up Dr. Pepper lip balm. She was trying to help you spend the gift card, but really, that was the first halfway decent thing she’s found. And it was a piece of shit.

 

“Perr. Seriously. I don’t want anything from this store.” You crossed your arms over your chest and sunk deeper into your hoodie. Perry picked up on your distress and put the lip balm down, gently hooking her hand around one of your forearms before pulling you from the shop. It took a lot not to blush because you’d been having weird tingly feelings when Perry touched you, but you managed to mask the color in your cheeks long enough to wiggle out of her grasp with an “I can walk, Perry.” She rolled her eyes but let you go.

 

Perry lead you to a bench and you sat side by side, facing the store. “So,” she said, “what is it that you don’t like about Claire’s?”

 

You looked at the floor and scuffed your feet. “I don’t know... I just don’t really like all that girly stuff, you know that.”

 

Perry thought for a moment, and you stole a glance at the way the sun, coming in from the skylight, caught in her hair. “They don’t have _all_ girly stuff,” she said, and you gave her a look. “What? They don’t! They’ve got earrings that aren’t girly and—” she broke off, searching through the store windows “—Neopet plushies!”

 

You gave a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, those are pretty cute,” you agreed, “except there’s one problem: I don’t play Neopets.” Perry sighed and you could tell she was getting frustrated. “Listen, Perr, just get something you want with the card—no, listen—and then you can buy me lunch or something. Or maybe just a Cinnabon. Seriously.”

 

Perry looked at you, opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I—” she sighed. “Fine. Are you coming in or are you going to wait outside?”

 

One look inside showed all the excited girls with their new Christmas money, showed the glittery, shiny, neon world of Claire’s, showed you that you’d rather stay exactly where you are than go back in there today. “I’ll stay here.”

 

With a nod, Perry took the gift card and disappeared into the blinding sea. When she came back, she had some new earrings with stars on them, some strawberry lip balm, and something she wouldn’t show you in a bag. She said there was a little less than $5 on the card, but she gave it to someone walking in because neither of you were going to use it. You told her that was fine, just so long as the thing was _gone,_ and the two of you walked off to find a Cinnabon, arguing the merits of the different items on the menu.

 

Next June, on your thirteenth birthday (it was technically a family thing but Perry had gone to it for years by then and your family had just accepted it), Perry gave you a homemade calendar and a box. After looking at the pictures of the two of you heralding each new month, you opened the box and found a necklace inside. “Be— Fri—k” it said. It was in the shape of half a heart with a jagged line down the center and it wasn’t a surprise when Perry pulled the other half out of her pocket. “This was what was in the bag that time we went to Claire’s. You know, after Christmas?” And you suddenly remembered that day and laughed, shaking your head. She was supposed to get something for herself, not you. But you supposed that the necklace wasn’t _too_ bad.

 

“Thanks, Perr,” you said, putting on your half of the necklace while she put on hers. Your heart seemed to sense that there was another half a heart around your neck and beat a little faster to accommodate it.

\-----

The time when you, Perry, and your mom were shopping for prom attire. Perry was in a dress, a light blue one that brought out her eyes. It was longer than her dress the year before, more formal, more…grown-up. But then, Perry’s always been grown up. You, however, seemed to be forever doomed to be the petulant child, chided for her(? their?) ignorance.

 

At least you mother seemed to think so.

 

As Perry tried on dress after dress in the dressing room, you leaned back against the wall across from the door in your jeans and t-shirt and super sweet vest you got the week before. You were standing next to your mother, trying not to let her (or Perry, for that matter) see the way your breath hitched every time Perry opened the door for the two of you to judge her dress. Sure, there may have been some ridiculous dresses, but it was _Perry_ in those ridiculous dresses and you’re pretty sure she would look good in an old flour sack. After about five dresses that you couldn’t seem to find any flaws in, despite Perry saying that she looked like a giant creampuff in one, ( _yeah,_ you had thought, _but a hot creampuff_ ) Perry and your mother decided you didn’t get an opinion anymore, which was good because it meant that you could just stand back and watch without risk of embarrassing yourself. A foolproof plan—that is, until your mother decided it was time for you to “stop whining and just put on a dress, Susan.”

 

You had shrank back, looking from your mother to Perry. Perry looked uneasy. She knew that you hated girly things and you had told her that maybe you didn’t want a dress. It was hard to ignore your mother’s determined look, but you pleaded with your eyes to Perry to please get you out of this situation and she stepped forward with a gulp. “Um, actually, Miranda,” she addressed your mother, “Susan was thinking about wearing a tuxedo again this year.” Your mom looked between you two with a pained look.

 

“Susan, this is your senior year,” she said. “You don’t want to pass up the last opportunity to wear a dress with your classmates, do you?”

 

You glanced at Perry again, looking stunning in a shiny, red mermaid dress. You figured she looked good enough for two people, so she could technically count for both of your last opportunities, but you didn’t tell your mom that. It was just, being in a dress felt _wrong_ , somehow, like you were masquerading as someone you weren’t—some _thing_ you weren’t. You’d had this feeling for a while now, the feeling that you didn’t quite fit into the role of a girl, like maybe you were kinda a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. Or maybe more like a square with round edges. Not a square, not a circle, doesn’t fit, just was. Whatever this feeling was, however, it most certainly objected to wearing a prom dress.

 

“Yeah Mom,” you told her, “I do. I don’t want to wear a dress. I don’t feel right in a dress.” Perry was still standing there uneasily, but when you glanced over at her again, she gave you a half-smile that looked kinda proud. You tried to keep down your own smile and looked back to your mother in time for her to start talking again.

 

“Senior prom is more formal than junior prom, Susan,” she said in her annoying, no-nonsense voice. “You have to dress up more! You can’t just throw on a tux and call it done! You’ve got to put on a dress and makeup and do a little something with that hair of yours.”

 

You slumped further against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. You were angry. Your mom knew that you didn’t wear makeup and she knew that you didn’t wear dresses. Ever. “Mom, I don’t think I’ve worn a dress to school since middle school, and the last time I wore makeup was the white grease paint at Halloween. And tuxes are formal! I don’t see what the big deal is! I’ll look great in a tux!”

 

“It’s not traditional!”

 

“ _I’m_ not traditional!”

 

Your mother threw up her hands then and ran one of them through her hair. “Um, Miranda?” Perry called out timidly.

 

“Yes, Lola?” you mother asked through half-gritted teeth.

 

“Well, Susan’s right. She doesn’t usually wear dresses, doesn’t _ever_ wear dresses, really. I think that having her wear a dress now would be odder than letting her wear a tux.” She turned to you quickly, in than high-strung, intense, Perry way. “Not that there’s anything wrong with wearing a tux.”

 

You gave Perry a smile that was little more just a quirk of your lips, but she got the _thank you_ you were trying to convey. Your mother, however, was still for a good ten seconds, silent, not moving, before she took a deep breath through her nose and sighed. “Fine,” she said, looking up at you. “It’s your life, your senior prom pictures. Just think about twenty years from now when you look back on your prom night. Think about what you want to be wearing.” She let that hang there for a second before turning back to Perry. “Lola, dear, if that’s all the dresses you have in there then let’s get you back in your own clothes so we can look for more.”

 

“Yes, yes, just give me one moment,” Perry said, springing into action. She moved back inside the dressing room and started to close the door, but paused and looked at you. She gave you one last proud smile before closing the door, and that somehow made it all better; your confusion, your mother’s disappointment—everything.

 

You rented a tux for prom night and you and Perry danced your hearts out, clinging a little closer than you usually would. It wasn’t a surprise when, at the end of the night, you kissed her with a giddy heart and a ‘why the hell not?’ attitude. The way her eyes fluttered open when you pulled away told you that, just like choosing the tux, you had made a good choice.

 

And your prom pictures looked great.

\-----

The time in your junior year in college, when you first asked Perry to call you “LaFontaine.”

 

You were in your dorm room, lying against the pillows and watching _Xena: Warrior Princess._ Perry was lying with her head on your stomach and you were stroking absently through her curls as you watched Xena and Gabrielle fight the bad guys and laughed at the special effects. “Susan, can you pass the popcorn, please?” Perry asked, and you felt your gut twist because Susan didn’t _feel_ right, hadn’t felt right in a while, and you knew what you had to do.

 

Carefully lifting the popcorn bowl over Perry’s head and into the curve of her body, you thought through what you had rehearsed, took a deep breath—

 

—and let it back out again. _Shit._ You couldn’t go through with this. Perry had known you forever, she wasn’t going to be able to change her speech now! You could live with being Susan, if only to make things easier for her…

 

“Ugh, Susan, I think you burnt the popcorn!” Perry said, and there it went again, that twist in your gut, and you knew you had to say something.

 

“No, Perr, that’s just our shitty microwave. The bag said two minutes, so I put it in there for two minutes.” Great. Way to avoid the question, LaFontaine. But, just like that, just by calling yourself by that name, you felt a new wave of courage with which to address the issue. You guessed Harry Potter was right, names _did_ have power. “Uh, hey Perr—“

 

“You’re supposed to put it in there and wait until the popping slows down, then stop the microwave and take the bag out,” she interrupted in her oh-so-practical Perry way.

 

“Ok then, you can make the popcorn next time,” you said, then try to get back on topic. “But, uh, Perr?”

 

“Shh, this part is important!” You looked at the screen again and vaguely recognized that Xena was listening in on some conversation, but your stomach was doing backflips and you felt a little nauseous and at that moment you didn’t care all that much about the show.

 

“Perry, I gotta, um, well, I gotta talk to you.” _Smooth, real smooth._

 

Perry lifted her head up from your chest and looked at you, which was good because it meant she was listening to you, but bad because it left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. She reached over and paused the show, then sat up facing you. “What is it?” she asked, mirroring your apprehensiveness.

 

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out, so you shut it and shook your head. “Hey,” said Perry, nudging your arm with the back of her hand, “what’s wrong?”

 

You opened your mouth again, looking at Perry, but halfway out of your mouth your words, your request, shifted into something else and you ended up asking “Soooo, how have your classes been going?”

 

Perry fixed you with a look that was equal parts no-nonsense and worry. “Susan,” you cringed internally, “what’s going on.”

 

Your eyes snapped shut and you pressed on them with the butt of your palms, trying to force yourself to speak. Why was it so hard to ask? Eyes still closed, you put your fists underneath you and raised yourself into a sitting position like Perry’s, before opening your eyes and chewing on your lip. Your left hand clutched at fabric of your pajama pants, working it out of nerves. You looked up at Perry, your brow knit together, teeth working at your lip, hunched over and vulnerable. You saw that she was just as nervous, wringing her hands together over her legs, neatly tucked underneath her, her back straight as a rail. As your eyes made contact and she saw how much you were struggling, Perry reached one of her hands forward and tried to place it on your arm.

 

“Susan?” You had almost let her touch you, almost leaned into it to have something to calm your nerves, but that name, that _word,_ reminded you of what you still had to do.

 

You pulled back your arm, and looked away. “No. I’ve gotta say something first.” Closing your eyes one last time, you took a deep breath and looked up again. “Perry, I don’t want you to—” _fuck, that’s not how I want to—_ “If you could please—” _dammit—_ “Perr, if you could not—” _motherfuckingsonofa—_ You punched the bedspread in frustration, cringing at the way Perry jumped, and took a breath. “Perry, I don’t want you to call me Susan anymore.”

 

You watched as Perry’s face contorted with confusion. “Wh-why not?” she asked. She pursed her lips, trying to understand.

 

“I just, I don’t feel like a Susan anymore.” _Great, Su—LAFONTAINE, really articulate._

 

“What do you mean?” There was a tinge of fear in Perry’s voice, like she was having a hard time recognizing you, and it cut through you like cold wind through a knit sweater.

 

“Just that I—I don’t know. I just know that I’m not a Susan. It’s really hard to explain. It’s just this feeling I have, like ‘Susan’ is wrong for me.” You gave her a weak smile and it turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to do.

 

“Susan,” said Perry, and you cringed, externally this time, because ‘Susan’ just feels _so wrong_ and you literally _just told her not to call you that!_ “is this one of your jokes?” She had an odd little half smile on her face as if to say _this isn’t really funny, Susan,_ but the second half of her sentence faltered as she saw you cringe and the smile slipped away soon after she finished speaking.

 

You shook your head. “No, Perr, it isn’t.” Her face fell and _oh god,_ were those _tears_ in her eyes? If there was one thing that would always get to you it was a crying Perry. “Oh no, Perr, don’t cry!” you reached out to rub her arm, but this time she pulled away. A hollow feeling spread throughout your body at that and, though the air was a comfortable temperature just a moment ago, it suddenly felt like there was a cold chill in the room. You pulled back slowly and put your hands in your lap, your back straightening. All your breath left your body, and your breathing became shallow after that, the bare minimum. You were sure your hurt was plain on your face.

 

“I don’t understand,” said Perry, “how can you suddenly not be Susan? You’ve been Susan for twenty-one years!” She blinked and the tears spilled out onto her cheeks, surprising her. She raised her hands to wipe them away, then pulled them back and stared at the wetness, unable to comprehend it. “And why am I crying? I don’t—I just don’t understand!”

 

“Well, see, Perr, I _haven’t_ been Susan for twenty-one years.” She squinted, glaring at you for making things more confusing and _oh god_ you just wanted to reach over and hug her but you knew that she would have appreciated an explanation more, so you pushed on. “I’ve always felt like ‘Susan’ was little off. Remember when we were seven and I wanted to cut my hair like Hercules and you told me Hercules had boy hair? Or how I didn’t wear a dress to prom? Or fifth grade, when Mrs. Evans gave all the girls nail polish and hair clips as a goodbye present and I gave you mine?” Perry nodded, remembering, but you could tell she still didn’t understand.

 

“Yes,” she said, “you were a tomboy. That doesn’t mean that you’re not the Susan LaFontaine I grew up with, though.”

 

You shook your head. “Perry, I wasn’t just a tomboy. It’s more complicated than that. I don’t feel like a girl. I’m still the same person you’ve known for sixteen years, but I’m not a girl.”

 

“Are you a boy, then?” she asked, relaxing a little, because Perry had met transgender people before, she could understand if you were transgender, transgender people had a _place_ in her mind. You screwed your eyes shut because you were about to destroy any semblance of order she was trying to salvage from this. What you were didn’t _have_ a place in Perry’s mind because it didn’t have an exact place in _your_ mind. You didn’t have a label for yourself. You didn’t have anything but a vague definition and the name LaFontaine.

 

Your heart sinking, you shook your head again. “I’m, well, I’m not really a girl, Perr, but I’m not really a boy, either. I’m kinda in between.” You crossed your arms under your chest and willed her to understand. She didn’t.

 

“I don’t understand. How are you not a girl and not a boy?” Her voice cracked and so did your heart because you really, _really_ didn’t like causing Perry pain.

 

You looked down at the fitted sheet on your bed and smoothed it out with one hand. “Um, well, gender is on a spectrum, and this line represents it.” You drew a line with your finger. “This is male and this is female.” You drew two shorter lines through the opposite ends of the first line, not quite at the end. “And I’m somewhere in here.” You circled the middle space in between the two shorter lines. “See?”

 

Perry didn’t look like she saw, but she nodded her head slowly anyway. “I…guess so.” She looked up at you. “Susan,” you crossed your arms again and gave her a slight glare, “or whoever you are now,” and _fuck,_ you hadn’t told her what you want to be called yet, so it wasn’t _exactly_ her fault, but her words sounded like an accusation and they _hurt_. “Are you sure?”

 

You nodded your head. “I’m sure. I have been for a little while now, I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

 

Perry took a shaky breath and wiped away a few more tears that slipped out of her eyes. “Ok,” she said and the two of you just sat there for a moment as Perry processed everything. “So,” she said a minute later, voice still unstable, “if you’re not Susan, than who are—” She stopped short and rephrased. “I mean, what do you want to be called?”

 

“I was thinking LaFontaine?” you said uncertainly. “Just use my last name like you? I know that just go by Perry for different reasons, but it seems to work out, right?”

 

Perry nodded. “Ok then…LaFontaine.” You were both silent for a moment before Perry, in her awkward, trying-to-make-everything-better voice, said “It’s a good name.”

 

You nodded your head awkwardly. “Yeah, I thought so.” You looked away from each other and your eyes searched the room, looking for something, _anything_ else to talk about. Anything to break the awkward silence. “So,” you said, your eyes falling on your laptop, “do you want to finish the episode?” Perry started, whipping around, just remembering that you two had been watching _Xena_ before all of this.

 

“Oh…” she trailed off. “Actually, I think I’m just going to take my shower and go to bed, if that’s alright with you.”

 

“Oh. Yeah, sure, fine.” You knew Perry needed to be alone with the idea for a while, and you weren’t really watching the show anyway. All the same, your heart rate slowed down, and you weren’t sure if it was out of relief or disappointment that Perry hadn’t just understood right off the bat. You knew it was stupid to hope that she _would_ understand it right then. Perry liked normal, liked order and you had just taken “normal” and flipped it on its head. Whatever it was, it made you feel uneasy, out of sync, and the moment Perry left the room with a watery “I’ll be back soon,” you curled up in a ball on your side of the bed and just stared into space.

 

You put away your laptop before Perry got back and set the bowl of popcorn on your desk. You changed into your pajamas and sat against the headboard with one of your bio textbooks, trying to lose yourself in enzymes and their different functions. It proved very difficult.  When Perry got back, you closed your textbook and put it on the floor before sinking down into a sleeping position without a word. Perry flipped off the light without making sure you brushed your teeth and without putting the popcorn away and climbed into bed, taking care to stay on her side. You both faced the walls closest to you, backs to each other. It hurt a little, but you didn’t address it. There was one thing that had been bothering you, though.

 

“Hey Perr,” you said after about ten minutes.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You know I’m still the same person, right?” You waited for her answer, not breathing, not moving.

 

It took her about ten, heart-pounding seconds to answer, during which time your heart sank to your feet. After that, though, you heard her head move on her pillow. “I know.”

 

You laid awake for another hour before drifting into an uneasy sleep.

\-----

It started with a question, but it ends with an answer.

 

After Perry, Laura, and Carmilla explain that you’ve been gone for two days, you go back to your room—your _official_ room, the one you don’t share with Perry—and watch Laura’s videos. You’ve been gone for two days, _two days!_ It’s terrifying and you know that you probably have parasites in your brain, but all your worry fades away when you watch Perry burst into Laura’s room looking for “LaFontaine.”

 

Your best friend may have thought you were a freak, she may have misgendered you, and she may have thought that calling you “LaFontaine” over “Susan” wasn’t all that important, but she knows when she’s fucked up and once she knows she goes above and beyond. You sit there watching the rest of that video and the next one, and by the time you see Perry waking up Laura and Carmilla you’re crying. The moment the video is over, you shut your laptop and run down the hall to Perry’s room.

 

You pull out the key you had had made (unethical, you know, but you technically _live_ there, so…), wipe your eyes on your sleeve, and open the door to find Perry rubbing nervously at a burn mark on your desk. She looks up at the door opening and stands there, deer in the headlights. She tried to get you to come back here first, right after leaving Laura and Carmilla’s room, but you told her that you needed some time to comprehend what had happened and went to your own room. It was also where your laptop was. All this means, however, is that the last interaction with just the two of you was the conversation right before you were taken.

 

“LaFontaine, I—”

 

You cut her off by running across the room and hugging her. There are tears coming out of your eyes but you don’t really care. Perry, who stiffened out of surprise when you launched yourself across the room, slowly moves her arms so she’s hugging you too. “LaFontaine,” she says, “I’m really sorry I said those things to you. I should never have kept calling you Su—that name.”

 

“Shh,” you tell her. “I saw the videos, Perr, I know you’ve been trying.”

 

“I have been trying,” she says, “but I should have been trying before then. I should never have doubted you!” Perry’s crying at that point too, and you just hug her tighter for it.

 

It started with a question but it ends with an answer. You hug your best friend, the girl you love, and let yourself _be,_ far away from vampires and hungry lights and constant misgenderings. “Thank you,” you manage to say through your emotional state.

 

Perry squeezes you tighter. “Any time.”


End file.
